Too Wylde (12 page)

"Service with a smile, oke. That's what you
get at Deon's."

Jimmy John Wylde

"Well, this is a pretty goat-fuck," I said. I
looked back out the door; no lingering shooters in stand-off, just
a couple of people across the street hurrying away, and only the
light flow of traffic this neighborhood got in the light of day.
"Who are these guys?"

Deon shrugged. He reloaded and reholstered
his 1911. "Were, oke. Who *were* these guys. Proper grammar, like,
yes?"

I put my Glock away. Deon knelt beside the
shooter with his hand still on the pistol that had never fully
cleared his waistband. Deon wrapped his hands around the man's hand
and pulled out the pistol, aimed it carefully, and fired at the
camera housing.

"Damn it," I said. "Let a guy know, will
ya?"

"Sorry, oke. Just in case the Polizei are
enroute. Just a tick..."

He stepped behind the curtain and came back
out a moment later. "Seems the hard drive took a power surge when
the camera went out. Nothing left after he went for his gun..."

"You call it in?"

"Pushed the button. Should be about 8-10
minutes, depending on traffic, but then they have that
unpleasantness in St. Paul today, so it may be a bit more."

It actually took the PD 9 minutes to respond,
two squads, both senior guys, so in a few minutes a shift
supervisor, the Coroner and the Homicide Duty Dick were enroute
while the uniforms took notes, checked IDs, took Deon's pistol and
his attorney's card, and asked me a variety of questions, which I
answered: "I don't recall, I only heard shots, when I came in it
was all over."

Par for the course.

Of course Deon had to go downtown, but after
a brief review of the remaining footage on the "damaged" hard
drive, the Duty Dick said, "Your lawyer can meet us down there, I
gotta talk to the prosecutor, but there's no crime here. You'll be
free to go in a coupla hours, max."

So I let myself out and locked up after the
crime scene guys cleared; didn't take long with the wonder of
technology --
Jimmy John, Jimmy John --
being what it was,
so I was alone in the aftermath.

Wondering. Me and Deon? Known players. Not
the first pick for a bunch of armed robbers in
this
town, especially since Deon's body count as a
genuine armed citizen defender of his small business was higher
than most of the gunfighters on the police department. The thinking
that would go into fronting a man with Deon's rep on his home turf
surrounded by weapons was more than a little flawed.

Timing and synchronicity.

Those were things to pay attention to.

Gonna have to make a pass, Jimmy John...

This wasn't Hank's signature. He was a
hands-on kind of guy. Explosives and incendiaries, yes; low rent
shooters, no. Unless it was a throw-away to hide the coming main
event.

Or maybe just a bunch of seriously stupid
shooters looking to take down a gun store and take off with the
product. The mix is what bothered me: an older guy and two younger
shooters. And why do it this time of day? No telling with crazies,
and the Somalis are known crazies, especially the hard-core
gangsters, let alone the dedicated jihadists among them who sought
out training overseas and returned to bring jihad to the
mainland.

What the
fuck
was
going on?

Nina and Nico

"I'll tell you what the fuck is going on,"
Nina said. "I'm stuck with you and you're..."

"Maybe you're the one stuck in here with me.
You ever think that?" Nico said.

Nina paused. Laughed. "How long you been
waiting to use that line? You a fucking comic book geek too?"

"What are you talking about?"."

"Over your head and into the yard, Nico. Over
your thick fat head. Never seen THE WATCHMEN?"

"The what?"

"Thick. Seriously thick. You can hang out
here in the garage. Go ask the duty wrench really nice, maybe he'll
let you borrow a Segway, or you can down and kiss the Horse Cop's
ass and see if they'll lend you a ride. Ask for Tim Hanks, tell him
I sent you."

" Capushek, will you please, as in pretty
fucking please with my cherry on top, listen to me?"

Nina snorted. "I think maybe you got your
green beret off a Girl Scout, you fucking loser."

Nico bristled as Nina laughed.

"Like I've been trying to say," he went on.
"I'm not happy either. I apologize. It was fucking stupid. So
there. I said it. I can't get out of this, not today, probably not
at all. But for today, we got dead cops laying out there, dead fire
fighters, and a whole lot of other dead people. Can we put this
shit aside, just for now, and get on with it? We got work to
do."

Nina scratched the bridge of her broken nose
with her left hand, studied Nico. Considered.

"Yeah," she said. "When you put it like that.
We can. Don't get in my fucking way, follow my lead, do what I tell
you when I tell you. Got it?"

"Yes."

"What you running besides that pistol?"

"Same thing on my ankle."

"Okay. Me two. There's a carbine and an
Active Shooter bag with extra mags in the trunk. This isn't a
shooting problem, or at least not yet, but in case it is, you
checked out on the carbine?"

"Yes."

"Figured as much, you being one of those
veteran guys. Let's go find some bad guys and put hot lead in their
head. Shall we?"

She turned and stalked off, and despite
himself, Nico couldn't help but grin at that fine ass in those skin
tight pants.

"Don't stare at my ass."

"Sorry."

They got in the car and pulled out of the
garage.

Nicholas Le Fronte, AKA Nico

This was just like that police station
outside of Ramadi, Nico thought. Smoking ruin, rubble everywhere,
red and blue lights flickering and disconcerting even in the light
of day. Disorienting, especially when you saw the building, or what
was left of it, like a gigantic toothed creature had taken a bite
out of it and then spat it out.

"So what exactly are we doing here?" he
said.

"OGA knows me. They got a tasking and they
need me to run pathfinder for them."

"You worked OGA?"

"No. They come looking for favors once in
awhile."

"Why do they come looking for you?"

"Why does anybody? Because you go find the
person who can get things done. Around here, it's me. That's why
your bosses sent you. Isn't it?"

"Yes," Nico said. "That's why they sent
me."

"Poor fucking you," Nina said. "C'mon, that's
who I'm looking for." She eased through the crowd to a tall woman
with the long angular facial planes of Norwegian descent. Nico took
his time catching up, eased off to Nina's right and behind her. He
nodded to the tall woman, who extended her hand and said, "Hi, I'm
Carol Lundquist. I work for the affected Agency."

"Nico. ATF. Sorry for the hit you guys
took."

"Thanks." She turned back to Nina. "The
cameras transmit to a hard-drive inside the building. All the
electronics are backed up hourly at a remote facility. We've got
people checking that now. We haven't recovered the main hard drive
and don't know if it will be intact; if we get it, we can recover
the data, or at least most of it. We hope. So maybe we can get some
vid, some photos, some kind of imagery to put it together. We don't
know if it was a suicide bomber or a park in place job yet. But we
want you, as soon as we have it, to run it hard and fast through
your local network. We have reason to believe that there may be
some connection in the local Hmong community and you have excellent
contacts there."

Nina nodded. "I know some people. You get me
the imagery, I can get it done. What leads you to believe there's
Hmong involvement?"

Lundquist sighed, looked around. "Look, I
hate being Secret Squirrel, but this project has classification
above my head, so it's above all of us. Off the record, and I mean
*really* off the record as in we never said anything at all, this
project has connections in our Outfit going back to the sixties and
the White Star operation in Laos, and a lot of those players were
and remain instrumental in the Hmong community here. Look up
Loyalty on Wikipedia and you'll find those players. But there's
more than a little division and a whole lot of animosity going on
about some things there, and that's where it gets...complicated.
That's all I can say, and I never said it. Got it?"

"Got it," Nina said. "Not my first
rodeo."

"I hear that," Lundquist said. "You ever want
a job..."

"No thanks," Nina said. "I got enough scar
tissue between my shoulder blades."

Lundquist laughed. "No lie, GI. Stand by.
I'll get it to you when I get it to you."

She walked off, her gait slightly crooked,
tired and worn down.

"What the fuck am I, chopped liver?" Nico
said.

"Just not a player," Nina said.

"I..."

"For a so-called street animal, you sure let
people push your buttons," she said. "Chill the fuck out. I want
some Vietnamese coffee. Let's go get some."

"What about helping out here? The EMS..."

Nina turned and gave him a serious look.
"Hey, Nico...look, I appreciate the thought in that, and I can see
that it's genuine. But it's not our job, and we need to be fresh
and ready to roll when it's our time in the gate. I know you want
to help, and so do I. But there's lots of people to help EMS, and
there's only the two of us to catch these fuckers if their lead is
right. So let's keep our head in the game and our game face on for
what our job is, 'kay? Let's get that coffee..."

Dee Dee Kozak

"Don't get me wrong, I love men, I mean, I
*love* men, but honey, if I ever crossed that line into girl on
girl, you'd be the girl for me!" Dee Dee gushed over herbal tea at
the little cafe in the back of The Space for Peaceful Living. "You
are so gorgeous..."

Lizzy was a real piece of work -- gorgeous,
quiet, that whole New Age thing about her. And a stripper? C'mon.
What's not hot about that? Not your run of the mill exotic dancer,
that's for sure. And that presented opportunity and a hint of
access, which in Dee's line of work was always something to watch
for.

"You're very beautiful, Dee," Lizzy said. "So
much strength about you." She sipped her tea. "Did you enjoy the
class?"

"Honestly, it will take some getting used
to," Dee said. "I'm not really a yoga girl. Feels like I'm cheating
if I'm not sweating and aching afterwards. But this kinda sweaty
and relaxed, I think I could get used to it. Nice. Different. Felt
my muscles in a whole new way."

"That's what I like most. You really feel
into your body differently."

"You're not what most people think of when
they think 'exotic dancer.'"

Lizzy laughed and lifted her tea cup in a
toast. "You mean stripper?"

"Yeah."

"What's not to like about it?" Lizzy said.
"Yes, sometimes it can be sad, watching some men and how they are;
I don't do privates or lap dances, I just do the runway. I think it
would be different if I were doing that. But my following supports
me well. I like my work. I won't do it forever. I may teach
yoga."

"I can see you doing that," Dee said. "More
your way than the other. Nothing against it."

Lizzy shrugged. "Come by some time? You might
enjoy it. Lots of women come there. It's a good place. The Trojan
Horse."

Dee stiffened. Lizzy furrowed her brow. "Are
you all right?"

"Oh, yeah, just a twinge. Wasn't that the
nightclub they had that gunfight in not long ago? The big shoot
out?"

"Yes," Lizzy said. "It was. I was there."

"Get out! For real?"

"Yes. It was frightening. But I was well
protected."

"You guys got good security in there?"

"Yes. A friend of mine was there as well.
She's a police officer. She was the one who shot it out with those
men."

"Really? Oh My God. I have to go out with
you!"

"Will you be in town long?"

"Oh, my business brings me here pretty often.
I'm mostly hotel hopping now, using up club points. But for the
time being, yes. Want to meet up for a drink later?"

"I have to work tonight and I don't drink
before I work..."

"Maybe then I'll have to come by and see
you?"

"You come down! I'll leave your name at the
front with the doorman, he's my friend, you can come in free anyway
and I'll make sure your drinks are covered. Come down and watch me
dance!"

Dee grinned. "Maybe I'll find the love of my
life there."

"You never know," Lizzy said. "I did."

KiKi Warren, AKA Neo Death God

KiKi tripped down the jet way in her work
clothes. The Catholic School Girl was gone; she'd gone full GIRL IN
THE DRAGON TATTOO with black tights, knee high black leather
motorcycle boots, a classic Rolling Stones T-shirt knock off and a
black leather jacket, black wraparound Oakley sunglasses and a
Patagonia Critical Mass Messenger bag in Citrus Green for the
accent. Her ID said she was Wiley Monaghan, which was her inside
joke on her love of Looney Tune Cartoons, Wiley Coyote and her
favorite actress, Michelle Monaghan. Wiley Monaghan was 22, a
student at the University of Minnesota who paid out of state
tuition and had a resident address with Moms and Pops in St. Louis,
MO, a Platinum Visa with a $20K limit and a $472.93 balance, and
about 15 pounds of computer gear stuff in her messenger bag.

She grinned to herself at the looks she
caught coming from the men; for a 13 year old she had a nice ass,
and the jacket disguised her lack of full bosom, though she was
sprouting some. Amazing what fashion could do for a girl.

Down the escalator to the luggage carousel to
pick up her small wheeled duffel, and then to the taxi stand.